The Arkansaw traveler., 1887-11-05
RED-LETTER RECOLLEC-
 TONS.
BY BURT ARNOLD.

l used to spend my vacations during the summer months when was boy. There were quaint people dwelt in it then, and both the house and it's occu- pants have added to their original quaintness as a quarter of century has rolled by. Those old days are but succession of yesterdays to me, and very pleasant recollections do they bring to mind. remember my first feeling of homesickness. mad bad, very bad spell of it, too. Yet, it is truly pleasant to me to think over it :; for I can now laugh at my discomfit- ure and boyish uncontentedness. How well remember choking down a sob as bade my mother good bye for six weeks. can picture in my mind the very seat in which I sat during that long and dreary ride. For two hours the rain poured in torrents, and, with my eyes brimming with tears, tried to admire the scenery through the smoke and drizzle. When l arrived at the station no one was there to meet me. So inquired the way to my great -uncle's farm, and man jerked his thumb over his shoulder and said "Over yander" It was a rough road for a small boy and his big valise, but trudged through the mud and reached the house at last, where l grasped the great old-fash- toned brass knocker.
 Old Uncle Jud met me at the door, and, as he took me by the hand, his broad brimmed shade-hat disturbed the ivy that festooned the portal and caused shower of raindrops to in- sert themselves inside my shirt collar
 "Waal, l yum; thought as haow yeou wuddent cum g long s twas a rainin', so I didn't hitch up to go arter ye," he said, as he drew me in doors.
 Aunt Becky took my valise and placed it on chair, then settled her spectacles firmly on her nose, gave me squeeze and scrubbed my face with the mole on her chin as she tried to give me smack of welcome. I will never forget how the hair on that mole tickled me and the wry face l made over it. But, bless her heart it was an honest welcome. There was a fire in the old fashioned fire- place, and she made me take off my coat and vest for her to hang on chair-back, while stood by the cracking logs to dry my trousers.
 "Jud's got the rumatiz ter-day, again." she said, as she spread the clothes. "He alwuz ketches it when we have CT spell CT damp CT rainy wuther. Jud, jest yeou run up stairs an git CT pair O yeour britches; the boy kin tarn the bottoms on lem up. Never mind, forgot yeour rumatiz. Why, boy" she continued, as she turned to me, "yeOur britches legs is soaked" And she clapped her hand on my steaming hot trousers and pressed the cloth against my calves.
 What boy wouldn't howl with pain under such kindness? I did, and the good woman looked over her specta- cles at me in amazement at my antics
 "Why, dear suz, whatever ails him Oh burnt ye, did it?" she asked ,as she saw me trying to hold the cloth away from my legs. "La me Pm sac sorry I didn't think. Don't cry, meow thet's a dear. I'd no idee | was a-hurtin of ye." .o-n.
 That night I drank country brand of tea, genuine Puritan beverage "thorough- wort tea"I have since heard it called. I was wrapped in a damp sheet and rolled in billowy down. feather bed, such as none but the thrifty New England housewife seems to consider absolutely necessary for the furnishing of spare room, and there I lay and perspired profusely, while listened to the scamper of rats on the bare floors of the attic above or the bats in the chimney, varied oc- casionally by the mournful twittering and peeping of swallow awakened by the roistering winged mice- catch CTS, and the batter of raindrops against the window.
 Why it was I canght no cold from that chilly wet sheet was to my boy ish mind a wonder but in the morning Aunt Becky tiptoed to my bedside where l was feigning sleep that might lie abed few more minutes and, as she passed her hand across my forehead, she muttered to herself:
 "Poor boy, he's all wore aout! guess that boneset jest stopped him a comin' daown sick"
 remember the flies annoyed me by exploring my nostrils, and it was a hard struggle not to betray that was awake and-1 did so much fear an- other dose of the nauseating boneset.
 When I rose and dressed looked out the window. A gray mist shrouded everything, and a more dis maj outlook would have been hard to find. Aunt Becky peered at me over her glasses from across the breakfast table, and after short pause, during which she allowed my coffee-cup to